


As Life Resembles

by carolinecrane



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-23
Updated: 2005-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has a little trouble adjusting to life after the explosion. Spoilers for "Play With Fire" and "Inside the Box". Written for the A Thousand Whispers CSI Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Life Resembles

His first night back, and Greg's been telling himself for hours that he's fine. He's okay, his doctor said he could go back to work and that means he's fine. But there are still bandages covering his back and neck, tugging at his skin every time he moves and reminding him that he's different now.

He doesn't really remember the explosion. Every once in awhile a vague flash of sound or color comes back to him, a blurred image of Sara lying a few feet away, the harsh yellows and oranges behind his eyes as the blast picked him up and tossed him out of the lab. He remembers waking up in the hospital, remembers Catherine's face when she told him the accident was her fault. But he doesn't remember much else, not the ride to the hospital or the doctors working on his burns or even what he was doing in the seconds before it happened.

Walking into the lab for the first time took him by surprise. They rebuilt it a lot faster than he expected them to, made it blend so smoothly with the undamaged parts of the building that for a few minutes he could almost believe he'd imagined the whole thing. Except the bandages are still there, and the scuff at the bottom of the oscillator is gone. The scratches in the top of his lab station have mysteriously disappeared, and there’s fresh paint where dingy white used to be.

Things are the same, only…different. Kind of like how he feels all the time now, almost like he's walking around just outside himself, seeing the world through slightly different eyes. He's the same person now that he was before the explosion, only the burns on his back are new, and there’s the tremor in his hands, and the scars he'll have eventually that are going to be there forever.

For most of the night he tries not to think about the accident, but it's hard when people keep coming into the lab to ask how he is, talking to him in low, sympathetic tones as though he'll break if they raise their voices. By the time most of the night shift has paraded through to offer sympathy and pretend not to stare at his bandages he wishes he hadn't come back at all, and when the door swings open again he rolls his eyes and turns his back on whoever's left to stare at him like he's some kind of side show.

"Hey," Nick says, voice low like everyone else's and Greg's starting to think maybe they put in some new sound absorption materials when they rebuilt the lab. "First night back, huh?"

Greg rolls his eyes and makes a noncommittal noise in his throat, not bothering to look up as Nick sets some samples down on his work station.

"So how you holding up?"

"I'm fine," he says for what feels like the thousandth time, teeth gritted and if he's not careful he's going to end up with lockjaw on top of all his other injuries. "I'd be a lot better if everybody would stop asking me that."

"You sure?" Nick asks, leaning in like he didn't even hear Greg. "Nobody would hold it against you if you weren't."

"What are you, the company shrink?" Greg asks, a bitter grin turning up the corners of his mouth as he finally turns to look at Nick. "I just said I was fine. Drop it, okay?"

He squeezes his hands into tight fists as he speaks to stop his fingers from shaking. It doesn't happen all the time, but when it starts it won't stop and he's not going to let Nick see that. Instead he nods toward Nick's samples and turns his back again, hoping Nick will take the hint and go away. "I'll page you when I've got something for you."

"Hey," Nick says, voice soft again and Greg tenses against the pity he knows is coming. "Listen, G...I've been there. I got tossed out a second story window by a guy who was living in my attic. I know how it feels."

Nick's never mentioned the stalking – not once in the year since it happened. It makes Greg wonder who Nick talked to after – if he poured everything out to Warrick over beers or if he kept it all in and just tried to forget. Greg remembers, though, remembers the way Nick walked around with that tension in his jaw for a solid month after it happened, remembers the dark circles under his eyes and the way he snapped whenever anyone asked him how he was doing. He remembers thinking it was only a matter of time before Nick exploded, and he remembers the day Nick came in and everything was suddenly fine again, almost as though nothing had ever happened.

It was...weird, but it was so long ago that Greg hasn't thought about it until right now. He's surprised enough that Nick mentioned it at all to look up again, relaxing marginally and nodding once. "Okay, so we're both part of the club now. I got it."

Nick grins at that, soft and warm and Greg's almost glad for the first time all night that people won't just leave him alone. "Something like that. Listen, if you want to talk..."

"Thanks," Greg interrupts, flinching away when Nick raises his hand. For a second it sort of hovers around his shoulder, Nick's eyes on his bandages like he can't decide where it's safe to touch. Finally he settles for Greg's forearm, squeezing slightly before he lets go and takes a step backwards.

"Right. So I'll see you later."

"I'll page you," Greg says again, watching until Nick pushes the door open and turns down the hall. He doesn't look back, and Greg tells himself he's glad. Because he's not sure what just happened – Nick's touched him a thousand times before, but this time it felt...deliberate. Like he was making a point, or maybe just trying to tell Greg something he couldn’t find the words for. But whatever it was, he doesn't have time to deal with it right now. He's got evidence to process and he's trying to prove that he can still do his job, so he can't afford to waste time thinking about Nick.

His second night back at work is a little better. People are looking at him less, they're not stopping by the lab to ask him how he's doing or staring at him through the glass whenever they walk by. But he still finds himself checking the fume hood every five minutes, and every time he does it he tells himself he's being stupid. He can't stop himself, though, and halfway through the night he's exhausted just from trying to act like he's okay.

It doesn't help that he hasn't been sleeping much since they released him from the hospital, since he stopped taking the really good painkillers that knocked him out. But he can't work when he's falling asleep all the time, so he settles for Tylenol and lives with the pain. And he should be grateful for the bright florescent lights in the lab because at least the glare helps keep him awake, but everything in the lab is too new and the harsh light just makes it all look bleached.

Stark, like the hospital room he spent a week in, staring at too-white sheets and too-white walls and sun pouring in through too-white blinds. The memory makes him shudder, frowning when Sara pokes her head into the lab to tell him Grissom wants him at the meeting. It should make him feel good that they're including him – it always did before, but a lot's changed since then and mostly he just wishes people would leave him alone.

He knows if he asked Grissom would let him go home, but he doesn't want to be there either, because it's too quiet and even when he's exhausted he never manages more than an hour of sleep before the weird stretch of too-tight skin healing on his back wakes him up again. So he goes to the meeting, sits in a chair next to Nick and does what he hopes is a pretty good job of pretending he's fine. At least he's got information to share, and even if it doesn't help the case it's better than having nothing to say at all.

For awhile it feels almost normal, sitting there with the rest of the team talking about the case. He feels like one of them, and that's something he's wanted for a long time. But Catherine keeps stealing glances at the bandages covering the back of his neck, and even though he's sure she doesn't even realize she's doing it that doesn't make him feel any less conspicuous. He's not angry at her – he knows it was an accident, knows he's not the only one who was hurt. Sometimes that's how it feels, though, and seeing the regret and pity in her eyes leaves a weight in the pit of his stomach.

He's grateful when the meeting's over and he can escape back to his lab to nurse a headache and pretend he's not watching the clock. Not that he's anxious to get home – he's just…anxious. Restless, and he's not really sure what to do about it. His hands haven't stopped shaking all night, and even though no one's noticed yet he knows it's only a matter of time. And he keeps meaning to ask the doctor about it, but every time he thinks about calling he tells himself it'll go away on its own.

It has to, because he can't hide it forever. Not when he works with a whole team of trained investigators, and granted, they don't always pay that much attention to what's going on under their noses, but he knows one of them will notice eventually.

As soon as he thinks it the door swings open, and he bites back a groan as Grissom walks into the room. He knew this was coming – he's the one who paged Grissom, after all, but the timing makes it hard not to wonder if the universe really is out to get him. He nods at the other man and reaches for his results, willing his hands to stop shaking just until Grissom leaves.

"Got your results. Two distinct samples, only got one hit, though."

Grissom nods and reaches for the sheet, and for a second Greg thinks maybe he's not going to notice. Then he frowns and his head tilts just a little, and Greg knows what's coming. "Greg, your hands are shaking."

"No they're not." They both know it's a lie, but he hopes maybe just this once Grissom will let it go. Because he can handle this on his own – he can, he just needs some time.

Grissom's never been the type to let anything go that easily, though, and he takes the printout out of Greg's hands and looks up expectantly. "Hold your hands out."

He does it because there's nothing else he can do – he can't exactly tell his boss to go to hell, not if he wants to keep his job. They both watch his hands shake for a few seconds, then he clears his throat and glances at Grissom again. "They've been shaking ever since…I don't know how to make it stop."

A nod and Grissom glances up again, expression serious enough to make Greg worry. "Is this interfering with your work?"

"If I was a bomb expert, maybe," Greg jokes, his smile fading when Grissom just stares. It _can't_ interfere with his job, because he's put way too much into this place and if he loses it…he knows he could start over, he's a smart guy and there are a lot of things he could do. But this is what he _wants_ to do, and he wants to do it here, where there's a chance he'll get out in the field eventually. "No, I think I have it under control."

For a few terrifying seconds he thinks Grissom might tell him to go home and come back when he's whole again, but instead he just nods and takes a step backwards. "It'll stop. If you need me I'll be around."

Before Greg can answer he's gone, but it's just as well because Greg has no idea what to say to that. He knows it's Grissom's job to make sure the lab runs smoothly, and that means making sure everybody can do their job. So it wasn't really an invitation to talk, not unless Greg wants to tell Grissom he can't do his job after all. Still, it's enough to make him worry, and he lets out a heavy sigh as he turns back to the evidence still waiting to be processed.

His hands are shaking even harder now, though, and the first envelope he picks up slips right out of his grip. He tenses and clenches his fists tight against the lab station, knuckles white against the new surface and when the door opens again he wishes he was anywhere but here. Even his empty apartment would be better than this – at least there he'd have some privacy.

"Hey, you okay?"

Nick, and Greg barely has time to look up before the other man's hovering over his shoulder, frowning down at his clenched fists. For a second he thinks about telling Nick the truth, that he's not fine and he might never be fine again, so he can just stop asking. But that would end in more questions Greg doesn't want to answer, and he knows Nick well enough to know if he didn't get the answers he wanted he'd run right to Grissom.

Instead he forces himself to relax, uncurling his fingers with an effort and reaching for Nick's results. He hands them over without a word, not quite meeting Nick's gaze as the other man watches his hand shake.

"What happened?"

"They've been like that since my debut as a human firecracker," Greg answers, not bothering to check the bitter edge in his voice.

"Does Grissom know?"

"He does now," Greg answers, shoving Nick's results a little more forcefully in his direction. "This is why you're here, right? I've got work to do, so…"

"G, come on," Nick says, his hand closing around the paper just above Greg's. As soon as he takes it Greg lets go, tensing at the touch and taking a step backwards.

"I have a mother."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nick asks, frowning like he really doesn't get it. Greg wants to roll his eyes, because only Nick could be so clueless about his own inability to let anything go, but he knows that'll just make this conversation drag out even longer, and right now all he wants is for Nick to go away.

"It means I don't need you hovering," he answers, turning away from Nick to stare down at the evidence he has left to process. "I'm not one of your projects."

He sees Nick flinch out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly he's not so sure Nick's as clueless as he seems. He's been accused of trying to save everybody before, anyway, and Greg can't help wondering if it's a sensitive topic. There's a sadistic part of him that wants to keep pushing, to pour salt in whatever wounds Nick hasn't let heal, but instead he lets out a heavy sigh and holds up one hand.

"Look, you can't fix this, okay?"

"You think that's what…" Nick trails off, jaw clenching and Greg's seen that look enough to know it means Nick's pissed. "I'm not trying to fix anything. I'm just trying to be a friend."

That makes him want to laugh, because they've never been friends. Not really, not the kind that talk about stuff like this. Sure, they work together, and they get along pretty well, but that's as far as it goes. Greg always assumed that was as far as Nick wanted it to go – a lot has happened to Nick since they've known each other and he's never turned to Greg, so there's no reason Greg would turn to Nick now.

Except that he's offering, and that's more than Greg ever did. The thought never even crossed his mind, because even if Nick did need a shoulder to cry on, Greg's is the last one he'd pick. That's the assumption Greg's been working on for years, and if he's been wrong all this time it changes…everything.

"Since when are we friends?"

He doesn't mean it to sound as bitter as it does, and when he catches the flash of hurt in Nick's eyes he knows it was the wrong thing to say. But it's been a long night, he's tired and worried about his job and the last thing he wants to do is play games with Nick. So he doesn't take it back, and when Nick starts backing toward the door he tells himself it's for the best.

"Whatever," Nick says, shaking his head as he reaches the door. "If you decide you want to talk you know where to find me."

A second later he's gone, leaving Greg standing at his lab station wondering what just happened. Part of him thinks he should go after Nick and apologize, but he doesn't even know what he'd be apologizing for. He's right – they're not friends, unless Nick's got a much different definition of friendship than he does. Besides, he's still got evidence to process, but as he reaches for an envelope and shakes its contents onto a slide he can't help picturing the look on Nick's face right before he left.

~

The sun's bright when he gets home, making him squint as he closes the drapes against it. His back aches and he knows he's not going to get any sleep, but he brushes his teeth and takes a sponge bath the way the nurses at the hospital told him anyway. It's been three weeks since he had an actual shower, and he'd give anything to stand under a stream of hot water right now, to wash his hair without having to resort to becoming a contortionist.

And he thought leaving work would be a relief, because even though he didn't see Nick again all night he couldn't quite shake the guilt. But his apartment is silent and empty and the sun's too bright even through the heavy curtains he invested in when he signed on for the night shift, and after an hour of trying to find a comfortable position on his stomach he gives up and gets out of bed.

He thinks he should call a friend, maybe find something to do to take his mind off work and his injuries for awhile. But everyone he knows is either at their day job or fast asleep right now, and it's been a long time since he had to worry about what people did during the day.

He could use some groceries, but the thought of strangers staring at his bandages while he shops for cereal and bread makes him want to throw up. There's always TV, but he can't even find a comfortable position on the couch these days and he's starting to feel like he's climbing the walls. He wants to crawl out of his skin, just to get away from himself for a little while. He's tired of thinking about it all the time, telling himself it was an accident and trying not to wonder why it happened to him.

He's spent a lot of time lately trying not to feel sorry for himself, and maybe that's what Nick meant when he said he knows how Greg feels. Nick – just another mark on the list of things that Greg regrets, because he was just trying to help and Greg didn't have to be such a jerk about it. It's frustrating and he's tired of acting like he's fine, but none of that's Nick's fault.

Nick who's probably fast asleep by now, still living in that house where he was stalked and held at gunpoint, and that's something Greg has never understood. He thought for sure Nick would sell the place and move as soon as possible, but he never did and a whole year later Greg's pretty sure he's not going to. That's one of those things he's always wanted to ask about, but he never did because they're not friends. Only now Nick's offering…something, and there's a part of Greg that wants to take him up on it.

He's not sure where he's going when he leaves the apartment. All he knows is that it's too quiet, the sun's too yellow even when he shuts his eyes, and he can't stop thinking about a million 'what ifs'. He knows the doctor told him to expect this, to think about only working half time until he gets used to a routine again, but he's going stir crazy inside his own skin and if he doesn't do something soon he probably will lose it.

When he finds himself in front of Nick's place he's not really surprised. He's surprised that he remembers the address – he hasn't seen the reports from Nick's case in over a year, but somehow he still manages to find his way to the right part of town, and now he's sitting in front of a house he's only seen in pictures and looking at Nick's truck in the driveway. Which means he's home, and even though he's probably asleep and Greg tells himself not to, he finds himself getting out of the car and walking up to the front door.

He doesn't know what he's doing here, because he still doesn't want to talk. There's nothing to say, really – it was just something that happened, and it didn't kill him so now he's getting on with his life. There's no reason for him to be standing on Nick's doorstep in the middle of the day, reaching out with a shaking hand to ring the doorbell.

It takes a few minutes, and Greg starts to think that maybe Nick's not alone, but finally the door swings open and Nick's standing in front of him in a pair of sweatpants, rubbing his eyes and stepping aside to let Greg in. Like he was expecting Greg, or maybe...maybe just hoping he'd show. Greg takes a few careful steps into a house he only knows from crime scene photos, wondering just for a second if he’s making a huge mistake. Then the door closes behind him and Nick’s hand is on his elbow, steering him toward the living room and he figures he’s already here, so it can’t hurt to stay awhile.


End file.
